


One Through Ten

by fuzipenguin



Series: Ten Overloads [2]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sex, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1479319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The drabble 'Ten' in expanded format, composed of (10) 100 word drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Through Ten

1  
  
       It starts with hands. Sideswipe’s in particular. He is arguably the most tactile, the one most likely to sling an arm over a mech’s shoulder or clasp a forearm in friendship. He is also usually the first to initiate intimate touches when sequestered with his lovers.  
  
       Sunstreaker watches with eager, gleaming optics. He is sprawled in a chair across from the berth, legs spread insolently wide. His gaze is intense, focused. Sunstreaker is good with paint and charcoal, but Sideswipe’s hands create their own art across Ratchet’s frame, pushing the medic into overload before an interface panel is ever opened.  
  
  
  
2  
  
       Sunstreaker continues to hold back, allowing Sideswipe full reign over their lover. Sideswipe coaxes moans from Ratchet with his glossa and lipplates. He nips and bites, licks and blows heated air over moistened surfaces, making Ratchet alternately shiver and arch. Ratchet’s panel retracts amidst kisses, the sharp tang of lubricant permeating the air.  
  
       Sideswipe’s deft digits dart in and out of that warmed, slicked valve. He whispers filthy encouragements into Ratchet’s audio as the medic twists and pants, legs clamped around Sideswipe’s wrist. Ratchet’s second overload is wrung out of him beneath Sunstreaker’s scorching gaze and Sideswipe’s talented, thick fingers.  
  
  
  
3  
  
       As Ratchet’s charge begins fading, Sunstreaker stands and stretches. Sideswipe slips over to cover Ratchet’s left side as Sunstreaker climbs onto the berth on the right. They settle over their medic, hands brushing over the heated chassis, three pairs of legs tangling in a slow slide. Ratchet is immediately lost in Sunstreaker’s sweet, unassuming kiss.  
  
       Ratchet knows many would be surprised at the gentleness Sunstreaker displays. Ratchet craves it, the slow tangling of glossa, the unhurried undulations their bodies make against one another.  
  
       Number three hits in a slow wave, buoyed by thorough kisses and the friction of warm bodies.  
  
  
  
4  
  
       Ratchet yelps with surprised pleasure when Sunstreaker’s hand grips the medic’s so far unattended spike. Sunstreaker strokes it in a bruising grip; while Ratches adores the gentle kisses, he also doesn’t mind a little bit of roughness, especially when he’s still caught up in the echoes of the last overload. The almost pain is a pleasure in itself.  
  
       Sideswipe is alternating watching Sunstreaker’s hand and Ratchet’s faceplates. Sometimes this is all it takes: Sunstreaker’s swirling grip and Sideswipe’s obscene whispers burning up his audios. It’s certainly enough tonight, and Ratchet topples over the edge under the Twins’ approving, lustful expressions.  
  
  
5  
  
       It takes a little longer for Ratchet to come around this time. When he brings his systems to awareness, there is a glossa in his valve, and it’s already halfway to destroying him. Booting up his optics, he can see Sideswipe’s helm moving between Ratchet’s thighs, the mech’s glossa driving deep. Sideswipe manages to skillfully worship Ratchet’s valve, even as his own valve is pounded into by his brother. Ratchet admires Sunstreaker’s driving hips, Sideswipe’s pert, upturned aft.  
  
       “Frag him, Sunny,” Ratchet gasps, enjoying Sideswipe’s unabashed moans.  
  
       Sunstreaker catches Ratchet’s eye; his smile is slow and dark. “You’re next, Ratchet.”  
  
  
6  
  
       Six follows so closely after five that he’s not even sure they’re separate. As soon as Sideswipe finishes shooting pearlescent transfluid all over Ratchet’s lower leg, Sunstreaker pushes his brother aside and plunges his spike into Ratchet’s still spasming valve. Ratchet shrieks, his vocalizer fritzing.  
  
       Sunstreaker moves in a slow but hard pace, Ratchet’s valve clamping down spasmodically on the hard length deep inside him. Ratchet’s knees clamp down on Sunstreaker’s hips, the medics’ hands feverishly grasping at the berth edges. Sunstreaker seizes Ratchet’s chin, forcing the medic to meet Sunstreaker’s gaze.  
  
       “Want to watch you come apart,” he says.  
  
  
  
7  
  
       Even as his wails begin to die down, Sideswipe’s pulsing length is spearing into him, Sunstreaker’s fingers wrapped around Ratchet’s twitching spike. They take turns, smoothly switching out periodically until Ratchet can’t tell who is who any more. They tell him he’s their slut, their own personal sex toy, to be used and abused until he breaks. He gasps _yes, yes, use me, break me, please, please, yes_ , and they comply, grunting with effort. He knows that whoever bangs out the dents tomorrow is going to be asking questions, but right now, all he can say is _more, more, more_.  
  
  
8  
  
       They pause after the seventh overload. Sideswipe removes cubes of energon from subspace and disperses it. Ratchet needs help with his, and they prop him up against Sunstreaker’s broad chest as Sideswipe tips the energon into Ratchet’s mouth. He swallows it gratefully, his throat abraded from screaming. Some of it overflows, slipping down his chin, and Sideswipe’s optics light up. He examines his own cube and then Ratchet’s interface equipment, a smirk arising.  
  
       The warm liquid trickling over his sensitive parts makes him arch; Sideswipe’s heated gaze as he laps up the combined energon and lubricant makes the medic moan.  
  
  
  
9  
  
       Sunstreaker takes him again after Sideswipe licks and sucks Ratchet to completion. By this time, Ratchet can barely move, can only feebly return the sweet, lingering kisses Sideswipe gives him. Sunstreaker is able to take Ratchet’s knees and push them out and up, exposing Ratchet’s valve even further. Sideswipe sidles up next to his brother and looks down approvingly.  
  
       “So wet,” he sighs. “So pretty. How much do you think you can take?” he asks Ratchet.  
  
       Ratchet can only gasp as a finger is pushed in alongside Sunstreaker’s spike. “Oh, yeah,” Sideswipe drawls dreamily. “You can take more than that.”  
  
  
  
10  
  
       Ratchet thinks someone’s knocking at the door. But he can’t really tell over the pounding of his sparkbeat and the almost painful drags of air across his heated engine.  
  
       He’s astride Sideswipe’s lap, sandwiched between the Twins. Their hips thrust in unison, both spikes sliding into Ratchet’s soaked, steamy valve. Head lolling against Sideswipe’s shoulder, his fingers weakly clench at Sunstreaker’s arms. It hurts and it’s good, and he doesn’t want to overload, because he think his circuits might combust from too much pleasure.  
  
       But then he overloads and dying like this, at least, isn’t a bad way to go.


End file.
